Coming Home
by GreenLoki
Summary: After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note – This story is dedicated to **Takada Saiko's** – her writing inspired me to start this – and **Cassy27** – for helping me through it. I hope you guys like it!

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Coming Home || Chapter One

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The muzzle silencing Loki and the chains binding him were all an act, basically there to humour the mortals into thinking that the God of Mischief was contained. Thor knew different, as did Loki, but neither did anything to prove that otherwise. Their departure from Central Park was quick and before either knew it, they were standing on the broken remains of the Bifrost. Weakened by the fight – and from such a beating that was delivered by the mindless beast that makes play he's still a man – Loki stumbled before he was able to catch his footing, aided by the Thunder God.

"Brother, are you alright?" Thor asked concern in his voice. His grip on Loki was strong, but gentle, and he did not release him even after he was balanced.

Loki started to speak, obviously to tell Thor that he was alright and to get his hands off of him, but his words were muffled off by the muzzle. Shooting a glare in his brother's direction, Loki had to wait a good five seconds before the oaf realised that in order for him to talk, the muzzle needed to go. And after Thor let out an 'oh' of recognition, the muzzle was removed. The shackles soon followed and they were soon off.

There were no guards waiting for them when they arrived back in Asgard, no horses or assembly to watch the Trickster's walk of shame to the dungeons. It was only Thor, and as they quickly made their way down the Rainbow Bridge, the Thunder God soon found himself almost supporting all of Loki's weight. He knew his brother was weakened, drained completely of energy, and he was surprised that he had yet to collapse out of sheer exhaustion. Then again, he really wasn't – Loki was never one to show weakness and, if he did, then he was really too tired to hide it. Now was one of those times. Right arm wrapped around Loki's waist, his left was hanging onto Loki's arm, keeping him from sagging. The walk alone was getting to the God of Mischief as he was panting, beads of sweat dotting his face and neck.

When they finally reached the Palace, there were no guards standing outside, no patrol walking around the perimeter on the outside nor were there any walking around the halls. It made it much easier for Thor to take his brother straight to the King and Queen's wing of the Palace. The doors opened on their own when they neared and they soon found themselves standing in a spacious common room.

Lost to his ailments, Loki did not realise until he was yanked to a stop that they had finally reached their destination. Thor had released him and barely caught him before he could fall to the stone floor. He clung to Thor's arm for only a moment before he caught himself and soon pulled free with a snarl. He needed to get it together. He was not weak and he would not let them take advantage of him in his moment of uncertainty. He shot Thor a heated look before he turned his attention to the room they were standing in. Loki recognised it easily and could recall a long time ago how often he and Thor visited and played with their mother and father. It was hard to believe how much had happened, how much they had changed in that time.

The sound of light footsteps was heard from the other room and both sons turned their heads in that direction. Soon enough, Frigga came through, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Thor and Loki. It didn't take long before tears formed, brimming at the surface. She opened her mouth to speak, having already made her way to her youngest before another set of steps met their ears, coming much faster. Odin was in the room and at Loki before he had the chance to blink. A hand was wrapped around his arm, pulling him past Thor, past Frigga, and into their bedroom.

"Lay down, son," He ordered, his voice frantic as he pushed Loki onto the large bed.

"Oh, Odin, do not do this now!" Frigga said as she followed after them. "We just got him back!"

"What is going on, father?" Thor demanded. He did not know how to feel. All he could take in at the moment was the serious look on the AllFather's face and the worried one on Frigga's. "You said to bring him to your chambers urgently when we returned, but you did not say why."

Loki did not know what was going on, but he did not like it. He blamed his stilled tongue on the fatigue and the pain that was wracking through his body; otherwise, he would have been demanding answers right alongside Thor. Sitting up from where his father had pushed him onto the bed, Loki had only just opened his mouth before Odin pressed down on his shoulder, making him fall right back to the soft mattress.

"There is no time," The AllFather said before placing his hand on Loki's head.

And Loki was soon lost in pain as the darkness surrounded him.

* * *

_The fear was overpowering, suffocating him until he was sure that he would die. He had hoped to die. He wasn't surprised, though, when it never came – luck and good fortune never did with him. He tried not to be disappointed, tried to reason with himself that that was just the way it was. Why should he gain luck and good fortune when he lied and deceived?_

_ The ropes wrapped around his too-thin arms ripped at the skin as he was yanked roughly through the rocks. His bare feet were torn apart as he stepped on the sharp points, and no amount of begging would slow them down, no amount of pleading would get them to show him the slightest bit of mercy. He was useful, they said. He had a purpose, which was why they weren't going to kill him. But break him … that they could do. _

_ And break him they did._

_ Bound to a jagged rock, they split him apart. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, struggled until the ropes cut into his skin, making him bleed, but they would not stop. They beat him with rocks, shredding the meat from his bones, tore the skin from his body. No questions were asked, no inquiries of who he was or what he was doing on their barren Realm were given. It was all just pain. _

_ But there was relief. They let him be and allowed his body to heal. It took time, but muscles were put back in place, his skin knitted itself back together, broken bones righted themselves. It soon became easier to breathe … until they returned._

_ And then the pain started all over again._

Emerald green eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar room. For several fleeting seconds, Loki panicked, unable to identify where he was before his brain caught up with him and the memories of earlier came back. He was back in Asgard and he was safe. Or at least he hoped he was. Closing his eyes again, Loki focused on calming himself down, on getting his breathing evened out. He did not know how long it took, but when he opened his eyes, Thor was staring down at him. The expression on his face was a mixture of concern and relief, as though he did not know if Loki would wake or not. The look angered him.

"What did you do to me?" Loki demanded breathlessly. He did not feel strong enough to move – his entire body ached and throbbed and felt heavy. He did not remember feeling so drained when they first arrived.

"Our Father …" Thor said before hesitating. He looked as though he was waiting for Loki to snap, to correct him for addressing him as _our_ father instead of _your_ father. Nothing was said, though. Loki continued to stare up at Thor, waiting for him to continue. So he did. "He went into your mind and sought the truth before it could become lost and twisted in the rest of your memories."

Loki did not know what disturbed him more – the fact that his father had been inside his mind and could have seen anything, or the fact that he had seen _those_ memories, _those_ horrors. Regardless, the news was enough to rouse Loki, and he pulled himself up until he was propped on his elbows. The act had him out of breath since he would not accept the help of Thor. Loki swatted his hands away when he tried. He did not need his help – he never did. He never would.

"Where is he now?" Loki asked, staring intently at Thor. He started to pull himself up. He needed to see his father, needed to know what it was exactly that he saw. It could have been anything. Loki didn't know what he would do once he confronted him, but he was resourceful and would come up with something to say to convince his father of his intentions. But Thor stopped him, placing a hand on his chest and pressing down, bringing Loki back to rest on his elbows. "I would speak with him."

"You can't," Thor replied, looking tired and worn. If his brother looked like that, Loki could only imagine what his appearance must have looked like.

"And why is that?"

"Father has fallen into the Odinsleep," That was enough to silence Loki. It was not that he was worried for his father – he had witnessed it the last time he fell to it, had even been the cause of it – but it was the timing that shocked Loki. Once again, when Loki needed him, he was unavailable. But Thor – ever the fool – took his silence for concern and placed a hand on top of shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "He was able to hold off long enough to send word that you are innocent and will not be held accountable for what happened in Midgard."

Loki numbly nodded his head. He waited for Thor to continue, but it looked as though the Thunder God was waiting for him to say something, to react to the news that was given. He was expecting a smile, perhaps even a hug, but it did not come and it would not come. Raising his eyebrows, Loki shot Thor an incredulous look before motioning with his hand to continue. "And what else?"

Thor blinked and had the audacity to look sheepish before his expression returned to concern. Loki was really starting to hate that look. "You will, however, have to be held responsible for your actions against Jotunheim. You were in control of your mind and had tried to wipe out the whole Realm."

That he did. But Loki couldn't blame himself for his actions, because – given the chance – he would try to do it again in a heartbeat. Loki did not say that aloud, though, as it wouldn't help his case. As it were, he was facing a charge of genocide. Thor's next words, however, surprised him. They made no sense and Loki could not wrap his head around the reasons.

"You are under house-arrest until father awakens. Mother's garden, your chambers, and the library are the only places you are allowed to go. Wards have been put in place to ensure that you abide by those restrictions."

"But … why?" Loki asked, unable to understand. The sentence was too light for the extent of what he had done. He had tried to kill all of the Frost Giants, had tried to destroy that entire Realm, and he was only placed under house-arrest? It made no sense to him. Only it did. Loki blinked and gave pause, only to realise that the reason his sentence was light was because of pity. Father had been in his head, had known what he had gone through after he fell from the Bifrost. It was all pity. It made Loki sick. "_Oh_."

If Thor realised that Loki had made the connection, he gave no indication. Putting a hand on Loki's chest, he pushed him back down onto the comfortable mattress, ignoring the snarl that followed. Instead, the Thunder God pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning back against it.

"Rest, brother," He said. "I will escort you to your chambers once you have healed."

Loki wanted to refuse him, wanted to spite him and stay awake for as long as he could, but after a few minutes of rebellion, he soon realised that that was an impossible task. The bed that he was lying on was incredibly soft and, the longer he laid on it the more difficult it was for Loki to keep his eyes open. He fought the exhaustion for as long as he could, but he was fighting a losing battle. His eyes soon slipped closed, and sleep overcame him.

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**To Be Continued …**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note – Thanks to all that have reviewed, followed, and favourited. It means a lot! And, as always, thanks to **Takada Saiko** for inspiring this with her amazing writing, and thanks to **Cassy27** for the continued support!

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Coming Home || Chapter Two

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When Loki woke up next, he had no idea how long he had slept for. All he knew was that the second he opened his eyes, he felt refreshed. His body didn't ache and he didn't feel as though he was being weighed down. It was a wonderful feeling and it made Loki want to snuggle back down under the soft pillows and the furs that covered his body and go back to sleep. It would be a lot simpler. Loki wasn't a fool – he knew that his family wanted answers. They had questions, concerns and, with his father in the Odinsleep, there would be no-one else but him to give them what they wanted. Squeezing his eyes shut, Loki wished for sleep to claim him once more. He dreaded the moment when Thor would walk back through those doors – he could easily tell that his brother wasn't present, because he had felt at peace. But the second he walked back in, Loki knew he would receive no more of that.

Sighing deeply, Loki got comfortable. The room that he was in was quiet, which meant the healer – or whoever was tending to him – still thought he was asleep. And after such a long time of always moving, staying still and sleeping sounded really, really nice. So he pulled the furs up to his neck and buried himself down in the safety and comfort of the warmth and allowed his mind to drift peacefully as it has always done right before he fell asleep.

_ Breathing was excruciatingly painful. His lungs felt like they were on fire with no chance of ever being extinguished. He screamed out in pain when he felt a hand tear the skin from his chest, squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back when the muscles were removed next. The tears were streaming down his dirty face, but he knew that they wouldn't stop. If they hadn't before, why would they now?_

_ Begging did nothing, either, and as much as he told himself that he wouldn't any more, he once again broke that vow. He didn't dare move, because moving hurt and moving meant more pain and moving would only make it all worse, because that meant he still had fight left in him. And he didn't. He really, really didn't. But – just like all the times before when things got too much – he begged and pleaded for his life, willing to trade and do anything he could for it all to stop. _

_ It didn't work – deep down, he already knew it wouldn't. That didn't stop the sob that ripped from inside of him, shaking his frame, causing spasm upon spasm to travel throughout his entire body. He was still bound to that rock, the rope wrapped tightly around his arms, keeping him firmly in place. He had nowhere to go and he was forced to watch as they slashed his chest open until the very bones were visible. And they didn't stop there. One by one, they grabbed a rib and slowly – agonisingly so – pulled. He was lost in a maelstrom of pain that blinded him and knocked the air right out of his lungs. He was so focused on the pulling that he was entirely unprepared for when they pushed a rib down. It punctured his lung, the bone easily slicing through. And then he was gurgling for breath, choking on his own blood until he was sure that he would finally find that sweet release._

_ Only, it didn't last. They didn't touch him anymore. They allowed him time to heal, allowed his body to stitch him back up together again. Several days passed in utter silence before he heard the sound of their approach. _

_ He was crying before they even laid a hand on him._

Loki was staring up at the ceiling before he even realised that he was awake. Or was he awake? Was it merely a memory that had forced its way to the surface? Loki didn't know, didn't care. He just wanted it all to stop. He was home and he was safe and there was no way that they could come and get him. He was free of them. But he really wasn't. If he was then he wouldn't be dreaming about them, reliving memory after gruesome memory every time he closed his eyes. Loki could still see them, could still feel their hands on his body, the nauseating scent of their breath on his face. It was disgusting and it sent a shiver racing down his spine. Loki pulled the furs even further up his body.

There would be no more sleeping after that. How could there be? His eyes felt heavy and all he wanted to do was close them, but Loki forced them to stay open. Closing his eyes meant giving them access, meant allowing them to seep back into his mind and uproot every sense of stability he still had left. He couldn't do that.

So he lied on the bed, surrounded by pillows and furs, and waited.

* * *

Hiding away wasn't going to save him anymore. Of course, Loki knew that it was bound to happen eventually. The healers would come, assess his health, and then send the word to Thor that he was well enough to get up – even though he was too tired, even though he was plagued by nightmares (memories) that prevented him from having a restful sleep – and leave. Word was indeed sent, and Loki was forced to come out of the cocoon of pillows and furs that he had made for himself and bathe before Thor came. The last thing he wanted was to face Thor looking as dishevelled as he did when his brother brought him back to Asgard. He didn't know of his title, didn't know if he was still a part of the Royal Family. Perhaps it was too soon to tell. Regardless, when a servant brought him a fresh change of clothes, Loki saw that they were his own.

He dressed slowly, making Thor wait, even after he was told that he was outside the door. The Thunder God wasn't busting his way into the room, demanding that Loki was to come out immediately, so he assumed that he was alright. And as much as he didn't want to anger Thor, he didn't want to outright listen to him, either. When he couldn't stall any longer, Loki walked out of the room. Standing against the wall with his arms casually crossed over his broad chest was his brother.

"You look well," Thor commented lightly, good-naturedly, as though nothing bad had happened to them. If he noticed the way Loki bristled and narrowed his eyes, he made no show of it. Thor merely pushed himself away from the wall and motioned for Loki to follow him. He didn't even turn to make sure that he was following, either, just knew that he would.

_The arrogant bastard_, Loki thought as he begrudgingly made his way after Thor, though he purposely slowed his stance. _No_, a little voice said in the back of his mind in reply, the one that haunted him about his true parentage, the one that ensured that he would never forget. _You are the bastard_. His good mood – however good it could have been after suffering through those harsh nightmares and being put under house-arrest – deflated after that thought. He said nothing to Thor as he followed slowly behind, and Loki passed the time by staring out the windows. Asgard truly was beautiful and, after spending so long in the darkness, Loki was both overwhelmed and speechless at the sight.

After some time, Loki noticed that he couldn't see the Bifrost. He figured that Thor was supposed to take him back to his chambers so he could start his sentencing, but there was no Bifrost – Loki's room had a clear view of that and of the ocean that fell off into nothing. He could see neither. Furrowing his brow, Loki stopped walking and turned to look at Thor, who was still walking down the hallway ahead of him. "Where are you taking me?" He asked, his voice not so much demanded, though there was tone that easily made Thor's shoulders tense some.

Thor turned, facing his brother, a sigh spilling over his lips. There were a plethora of emoticons on the Thunder God's face, ranging from exhaustion to impatience to contentment. It made no sense and Loki found that he didn't have the strength to rifle through them to determine the true meaning. But he didn't seem angry at Loki's demand, didn't grab his arm and drag him to wherever he wished Loki to be. Instead, he stayed right where he was, a soft wistful look in those sparkling blue eyes. "You once told me that no-one would miss you when you were gone, that there would be celebrations to your departure. Well, I want to show you something."

Curiosity and a bit of wariness took over most of Loki's thoughts and feelings, but he did not question Thor anymore as they resumed walking. It was only after a few minutes that Loki realised that they were walking to the King's Hall, which was where the portraits of Asgard's late Kings – Buri, Bor, and Cul – hung on the stone walls, as well as a one of Odin. Thor spared none a glance as he walked past each one, though Loki slowed his pace even more, staring up at each hard face with a nervous look. He didn't know why – they were all dead, minus Odin – but looking up at them made him feel small, unworthy, insignificant. He was once a King, but he felt like he had no right to call himself that after all that he'd done. In doing so dishonoured all that came before him.

At the very end of the hall, Loki stopped beside Thor. He didn't know what he was expecting, but a portrait with his face wasn't it. Gaping some, Loki took a step closer and reached out to touch it, but drew back, unable to do so. He didn't know what to say really. Loki stared at the portrait in shock before looking at Thor, silently seeking an explanation. He was only King for a handful of days, and those days were full of plots, tricks, and destruction. His face had no right hanging on the wall next to their late Kings, the ones who actually made a difference to Asgard. Upon closer inspection, though, Loki could see little messages written around his face. They were small – not long at all – but they were several.

_He will be missed._

_ Pray for a safe journey to Valhalla._

_ Long live King Loki._

"When news spread about your … death, the people of Asgard presented us with this," Thor said quietly. His usual bright eyes were dull now, as though he was lost in a memory. He looked sad, his distant gaze revealing pain and heartache. "You have always been mischievous, brother, and you have always had a knack for causing ill feelings, but you have always been loved. You _were_ missed and mourned for."

"I do not …" Loki started, but trailed off. What could he possibly say to convince Thor and make him understand his troubles? He had gone mad with grief, had panicked and lashed out at the people who loved him the most, had tried to destroy an entire race, because he was too lost in his betrayal and anger to see reason. He had tried to kill his own _brother_. Loki did not expect to be missed. He did not expect to be mourned. He wasn't Thor – wasn't bright, wasn't the sun, wasn't Odin's favourite. He was dark and cold, the Trickster God, who lied and deceived. "… Why?"

Thor licked his lips nervously, as though he didn't know how Loki would react to his next words. "You may not be my brother my blood, but you _are_ my brother. I held you in my arms and watched you grow, just as you have me. We have been through much together and that has only brought us closer. I was a fool to not see your pain, but my eyes are open and they shall remain so until my end. I will not betray you again."

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**To Be Continued …**


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note – I'm so pleased with how everyone is taking to the story! Thank you all so much! And – as always – thank you to **Takada Saiko** and **Cassy27** for all their inspiration and motivations!

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Coming Home || Chapter Three

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Loki lost track of time in the King's Hall. He spent a good while standing before his portrait, reading each and every little message, and then read it again to convince himself that what he was seeing was real, that it wasn't all just a figment of his imagination. It was hard to believe that the people of Asgard had presented such a gift, hard to believe that they would actually mourn for him. All his life, Loki had felt like an outcast and only recently had he learned the truth about why he felt so isolated from his family. But even when he was oblivious to his true parentage, Loki had been different. He was named God of Mischief for a reason and had played his title well. He could not give an exact number to the many times he was called before the AllFather, demanding explanations for the mischief and chaos of one thing or another. A century after his title was given, Loki was sure that he was the most hated citizen of Asgard. Apparently, he had been very, very mistaken. But after he had read over the many messages, Loki had moved to the floor, sitting down on the opposite wall – his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, his head resting on his thin knees – so he could continue to stare at the portrait. Tears blurred his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. He had cried enough in the past two years to last him several centuries. He was simply grateful that Thor said nothing. The Thunder God hadn't left, hadn't moved from his place. His sparkling blue eyes were either concentrating hard on the portrait or staring at Loki, and when he was staring at him, the Trickster found that he couldn't read his expression. He had only tried once, but he didn't dare look back again. Would he think him weak if he saw tears in Loki's eyes?

He remained unmoving, emerald green eyes staring up at a face he didn't even recognise anymore. It was hard to believe that only a year had passed since he was last home. So much had changed, and Loki had changed along with it. The man in that portrait – if he could have even being considered a man after his actions – was a stranger to Loki now. That man – boy – had been full of jealous rage, of hate and anger. He had wanted nothing more than to cause utter destruction, to annihilate Realms and prove that he was someone. Loki _now_ didn't know what he wanted anymore. He was simply a lost being, trying to put together pieces of a heart that was broken.

Several hours had surely passed before Thor finally roused Loki up and started leading him back to his chambers. The silence was a welcome and, as Loki followed Thor down the long corridors, he was thankful that his brother hadn't said another word to him. He had much to think about, much to contemplate, and the last thing he neither needed nor wanted was to have to explain what he was feeling. Because he didn't know what he was feeling, didn't know what he was thinking. It had not ceased to surprise him how much had changed in the past year. Asgard, his family, _himself_ – he barely recognised them anymore. But despite how they were strangers to him now, Loki couldn't help but feel the familiar pull. He had been through so much, had seen so much, and though he had only been home for a few days, Loki found that he enjoyed the comfort that Asgard's great walls provided. He missed it.

So lost in his own thoughts, Loki just barely realised that his mother was standing just at the corner of an adjacent hallway. The sight of her gave him paused, made his feet slow to a stop as he took in her appearance. Frigga was as lovely as ever and to this day, Loki still thought of her as the most beautiful woman in all of Asgard. With kind, fair features, Frigga was gentle and strong. She had a big heart and an opened mind, and Loki recalled several times in his younger years where he would go seek her counsel when he was in need of advice or simply wanted someone to talk to that would actually listen and take in his words. She was his rock when Thor was off gallivanting with the Warriors Three, his best friend when all the others would make fun of him and jest about his desire to study magic. But above all, she was his mother and nothing would ever change that. Loki found that he was suddenly tired of keeping a barrier around himself. His blessed mother was standing at an adjacent hallway, staring at him with such happiness and hope in her eyes that Loki couldn't deny her. Her hands were clasped together as though she wanted to touch him and hold him, and Loki would give that to her in a heartbeat. And he did.

Letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, Loki gave Frigga a tired smile and started walking towards her, his pace much faster as he moved towards his mother. Frigga let out a happy cry as she ran towards her youngest son, her arms spread out wide and inviting and, when they finally got to each other, she wrapped them tightly around Loki, squeezing him and holding him as though he were still a child. He still was to her. And Loki was okay with that. He was tired and wary and he wanted nothing more than to be shielded from the world. In Frigga's arms, he knew that he would be.

"Oh, my son," Frigga whispered in his ear, nothing but love in her voice. She smelt like flowers and pages from old tomes, and Loki felt his eyes water, because he had missed her _so_ much. Her arms around him made him feel safe and warm, and he could feel his heart lightening, the stress on his shoulders lessening as she tightened her embrace. "My baby," She kisses his cheek and ran a hand through his hair, gently rocking him from left to right, as though she could sense the emoticons exploding inside of Loki.

"I'm sorry," Loki found himself gasping out, squeezing her just as tightly as she was him. The second she let out a sorrowful whimper, Loki lost whatever control he had and cried. The tears spilled from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks. He buried his face in the crook of his mother's neck and clung to her as he had done so many times before in the past. Loki wasn't ashamed to – not with Frigga. She wouldn't judge him and she wouldn't laugh at his weakness. Frigga cried along with him, running her hands up and down his back, through his hair, doing all that she could to comfort him.

"There, there, my love," She gently said, pulling Loki back just enough so she could look into his emerald green eyes. Though her cheeks were flushed and she had tears running down her face, her bright blue eyes were full of such happiness that Loki was rendered speechless. He could see it in her eyes that she had already forgiven him, and Loki just couldn't understand why. Frigga leaned in, though, and pressed her lips to his forehead, and Loki found himself closing his eyes at the warmth that spread through him.

She turned her sights to Thor, who was standing back several steps, wanting to give mother and son the privacy that they deserved. He stepped up, though, when she came over to him, and he pulled her into a hug when she beckoned for him. Words were soon being exchanged between his mother and brother, but Loki wasn't paying attention to what was being said. He used the few moments that he had to pull himself together, to wipe away his tears and try to get back some of the control that was taken from him due to his overwhelming emoticons. And it was when he had finally pulled himself as much together as he could muster that he felt as though he was being watched. Emerald greens shot up and immediately locked eyes with dark browns. So many emoticons were reflected in those eyes – shock, surprise, anger, happiness, sadness, want, need – and Loki had no idea which one was more dominant. He didn't have the chance to think more about it, though, before Frigga took his hand. Loki soon forgot about those dark brown eyes as his mother stole his attention.

* * *

Frigga's garden was just the same as Loki remembered it, but at the same time it was strange and new to him. He said nothing to his mother as they walked along the paths, their hands still intertwined. Loki was thankful for that. He didn't want to let go of his mother's hand, didn't want to lose that safety and sense of stability. Frigga must have felt the same way, because her thumb was constantly moving, massaging little circles into the front of his hand. They were taking the long path around the garden, and Loki allowed his gaze to take in every inch of the beauty. Frigga's garden took up the entire east side of the Palace, and Loki was proud with the knowledge that his mother planted each and every seed into the ground, had watered and fertilised and tended to the flowers as they grew. His fingers brushed over some of the buds, internally naming each kind, trying to refresh his memory. He had once known the names, could identify them on scents alone. He couldn't do that anymore.

"You are quiet, my child," Frigga spoke up, gently squeezing her son's hand. They had been walking for a while now, neither speaking, simply enjoying the other's presence. While Loki had been spending the majourity of his time looking at everything – and that made her heart soar, because Loki had always been an observant and curious child, and to see that that had not changed almost made fresh tears pool into her eyes, because she finally had her baby back – Frigga had spent her time staring at him. How she had missed him. Missed seeing those sharp emerald green eyes, missed hearing the sound of his voice, missed touching his face. There were no words to describe the pain that she felt in that year, thinking that her baby was dead. Knowing that she would never be able to look upon his face again almost killed her. Frigga didn't want to let him go, didn't want to let Loki out of her sight, for fear that it was a dream, a cruel twist of fate that teased her and prolonged her suffering. "Will you not speak of your horrors to your mother?"

"I do not want to speak of them to anyone," Loki replied, his voice soft and withdrawn. How could he tell his mother about what he had been through? Those _horrors_ would keep her up at night, would break her heart if she only knew what he had been put through. No, he couldn't do that – he wouldn't. Loki was home now and, though the word still sounded strange on his tongue, he had no plans to abandon her. The mere thought made his heart race and his grip on her hand to tighten.

"You have suffered enough, Loki," And oh, did Loki love the sound of his name on her lips. The tone was so soft, so loving and caring. It made his eyes water some, a lump to form in his throat. He hated that he couldn't control his emoticons, hated that they changed at an instant. But then he remembered that he was with Frigga, his mother, and he knew that she wouldn't judge him, wouldn't call him out for his pain and fear. "Share the burden with me. Let me heal you as a mother should."

"Not all wounds can be healed by magic, not all wounds can be healed by the comfort of their mother."

And that was all that Loki would say on the matter. Frigga would not give up, but at least she knew that, for the moment, all Loki wanted and needed – because he desperately _needed_ her – was to hear the sound of her voice. So they walked through the garden and, as they went, Frigga pointed out each flower and called it by name. Loki smiled for the first time since he returned.

* * *

**To Be Continued …**


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note – Sorry this took so long! I was having a lot of trouble getting this to come out the way I wanted it to. I'm glad it's out! And, as always, thanks to **Takada Saiko** and **Cassy27** for being there and giving me the inspiration and motivation.

* * *

Coming Home || Chapter Four

* * *

As the Queen of Asgard, Frigga had a lot of business to attend to, despite how much she wished to stay with Loki. She was reluctant to leave, hugging him longer, murmuring how quickly she would handle her business so that she could come back to him, sit with him, and talk with him. Loki appreciated her care and her devotion to him, but he was quite content with walking around the garden on his own. He could let the shield around him drop, could allow the uncertainty and the fear to fall back into place around him, surrounding him, suffocating him, because he was afraid, and he didn't know exactly what to do to fight the fear and allow things to return to normal. Loki didn't even know if he wanted things to return back to normal to begin with, but was it not better than what he had dealt with for the past year? He was immortal and the years for him came and went ever so quickly, but there were certain events in his life that slowed down that progression. His lips being sewn shut had been one that had stayed with Loki for a long while after the thread was painfully removed. His past dealings with … Loki leaned against a tree and sighed deeply as he ran a hand through his black hair. He just didn't know what to do to get past it, didn't know how to return to a state of normalcy.

He felt as though his sanity was hanging on by hairs and that any wrong move would send him hurtling down a cliff, and he knew that the fall alone would kill him this time, because he wasn't strong enough to deal with it anymore. A part of him wondered if he should be as terrified as he thought, that he should be seeking help and begging for guidance, because he was so lost, so broken and defeated and pathetic, but he was too numb to feel, too numb to realise that he was heading down a path he couldn't handle alone. Everything was so different. Only a year had passed since he was gone and Loki felt as though he was in an entirely new world filled with rules and expectations that he couldn't even begin to understand. This place, Asgard, it was his home, and though he felt comfortable and could feel the ebbs of safety knitting together, becoming slowly stronger, Loki still felt as though he was slipping. And slipping meant losing his balance, falling back into that _hell_, feeling those thoughts, acting on those emoticons, becoming desperate and anger – _so angry_ – and –

Thor's laughter, of all things, sounded in his ears, breaking him out of the panic that was welling deep within him. Emerald green eyes snapping towards the direction of the laughter, trying to find the face that matched the laugh, but Thor wasn't close enough to be seen. Glancing up at the sky, Loki deduced that it was past noon, which meant that his brother was probably headed to the training fields to spar. It made him sick, the feeling that slowly grew deep in his heart. It wasn't jealousy. Loki was above feeling jealous. That thought only lasted a moment before Loki was shaking his head. Nothing had changed – not really. Those feelings still took root deep within him, making him feel small and invisible. He was still that jealous boy, the one that yearned to be in the light with his brother, while hating him at the same time. It couldn't be, though. Thor was light while Loki was dark. That was how it was to always be.

Loki pushed himself away from the tree he had leaned against and slowly started to make his way back to the Palace, feeling drained and exhausted and vulnerable and pathetic. He had enough of the sun, had enough nature, had enough of walking and thinking and hoping and pretending that things would work themselves out. Things like that didn't happen for Tricksters Gods. So Loki took a left that lead him in the direction to the Palace. He noticed briefly how quickly he remembered the way through Frigga's garden, how he didn't have to think about where he was going or which direction to take. He banished the thought shortly after. Those thoughts were dangerous and would only lead him to more, and he couldn't take more, because that would mean realising that he actually _missed_ Asgard, _missed_ his family, _missed_ his home, and he couldn't miss that. In doing so would reveal his fear and his need and want to be accepted in a world that – he had once thought – despised him.

His pace was quick as he made his way through the garden, pushing and slapping branches and hanging vines out of the way. He needed solitude, a quiet place for Loki to sit down, relax, and put together his scattered thoughts. The library seemed like the ideal place – it had always been Loki's favourite place to be since before he could even read – but for some reason, Loki found the strange desire to lock himself in his room, to wrap himself up in his furs and blankets and just _hide_. Hiding meant no-one could find him, judge him, and try to understand what happened to him. Hiding meant being alone and that was exactly what he wanted, because population scared him, frightened him, made him unease. _You're a coward_; an inner voice broke through his weak walls, making him almost jump. His heart leap in his throat and he swallowed down the nausea. Could he truly find no peace, a place where the thoughts in his mind couldn't and wouldn't terrorise him, break him down and make him feel like such sorry, fragile excuse of a Trickster God?

Control his breathing – that's all he had to do until he could get to his chambers. Take the back hallways, avoid the guards and the servants the littered the halls during the daytime, and he would be alright. He just had – gasping, a sharp, sudden pain took over Loki's vision, shocking him and –

_ Black, it was pitch black and freezing cold – not as cold as Jotunheim, but enough to freeze his naked body, filling him with a sense of dread and fear, scarring him deeply, leaving behind a permanent shiver that made his already aching body all the more painful. Bare trees and thorns and rocks were all he could see. They walked through them for miles and miles, getting deeper and deeper into the unknown area. The further they went, the darker it became, the more crowded and clustered it became. The broken branches with sharp pointy ends scraped along his body, cutting open his skin and causing little trails of blood to slowly travel down to the ground beneath him._

_ The trees were dead, but they were alive, as well, staring down at him, judging him, waiting for the moment when they could swallow him whole. Perhaps it would be better if that were so. He wouldn't be in pain any longer. But it was a foolish thought. He knew that he would suffer a thousand times over before he was granted with something as merciful as death. _

_ Shoved from behind, he was forced down to his knees, pushed onto his stomach and chest, the rocks and prickly thorns ripping open and slashing at his skin. The branches were shaking and Loki was screaming as the vines were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, the sharp stabs of the thorns easily drawing more blood. The gagged him this time, forcing the vines between his teeth, wrapping it around his head over and over and over and the thorns cut into his cheeks, shredded his tongue and left thorns sticking in his gums – _

"Loki," A voice called. It was female and there was something familiar about it, but Loki couldn't figure out from where. Her voice was soothing, though, and he found himself slowly drifting towards it. "Open your eyes," She spoke, and Loki heard the whispering sound of her clothes shifting before he felt the brush of her fingers on his forearm. They were callused and rough, the signs of work on them. The breeze blew gently in his face, her scent meeting his nostrils – gardenia with a hint of leather painting a picture of her face. Loki didn't know whether to be glad or afraid of her.

Emerald green eyes slowly opened, though, and Loki was met with two terrifying things. The first thing that caught Loki's attention was the pain shooting up his hand. His hand was clenched tightly around the branch of a flower he was looking at, and he could feel the prickle of thorns that tore into his skin. He couldn't move, though, no matter how many times he willed it, no matter how many times he screamed at himself to let it go. It was as though he were trapped in his mind, trapped in the memories that refused to relinquish their hold on him. _They were hurting him, laughing at him, humiliating him and_ – but then his gaze snapped to her. She was everything that he had remembered her to be – hair tied and out of her face, dark brown eyes wide and deep and Loki could see himself staring into them. She looked exactly the same, but different, worn, aged almost. There was something about the way that she stared at him; tears veiling her eyes, making them seem brighter.

"Loki –"

He pulled himself from her grip and quickly made his way down the path, unable to stand before her in such a state. He was pathetic and _ruined_ and his heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn't stand there and see such raw emoticon in her dark brown eyes. He didn't deserve that emoticon. Blood dropped from his wounded hand, leaving a small trail of blood behind him.

Loki left Sif standing alone.

* * *

The sun was long past set when there was a soft knock on Loki's door, and even though it was quiet and not meant to frighten him, he felt himself shrink even deeper into the warm, safe place underneath his furs and blankets. His behaviour was pathetic and foolish, but Loki had come to the conclusion in those several hours of silence with only his thoughts for company that he was pathetic and foolish – pathetic and foolish enough to think that everything would be okay, pathetic and foolish enough to think that he still had a place within their world. He had not a place nor a home, not a mother nor a brother. He was merely Loki, abandoned bastard, broken and alone, destined to walk the Realms as a shadow. That was his rightful place, his true place. He said nothing, though, to whoever it was that was knocking on his door. He had done the same when Frigga had come. His heart had clenched when he heard his mother cry, when he heard her beg and plead for him to let her in, to not shut him out, but Loki had remained strong. He wouldn't allow her to become contaminated with his disease, with his sickness. She was more than that.

"Loki?" The door opened a few moments later, and the first thing that Loki saw was a head of blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes easily finding him, despite how he tried to hide underneath a mountain of furs and blankets. It was a useless attempt. Thor could always find him. He stepped into the room and closed the door, slowly, cautiously, making his way to the bed. Loki could see his gaze falling to the floor, taking in the drops of blood that came from his hand. He had yet to clean it and it still bled slowly, staining his clothing, as well as his bedding, but Loki cared not. Emerald green eyes watched closely as Thor neared. "Are you …" He started, but seemed to think better of it. He knew Loki wasn't well, and asking about it and talking about it wouldn't do any good. There was no healing his scars. "The Lady Sif told me about what happened in mother's garden. She was most worried about you. She wishes you would speak with her. She thinks often of you."

_Brown hair cascading down her shoulders, dark brown eyes, a laughter that filled his heart and made him smile, despite himself_ – Loki closed his eyes and shut those thoughts and feelings away. He had to cut all ties, had to stop everything, because there was no place for it here, not with him anymore. He didn't move, didn't open his eyes when he heard Thor moving closer to the bed. His body tensed and he was screaming in his mind when he felt his security blankets being pulled down the bed some, revealing his upper body. A small intake of breath sounded before Thor was gently grasping his wrist, inspecting the wound on his hand. It wasn't bad – it hurt, but Loki had felt much, much worse – though there were thorns and prickles still in the cut. A part of him didn't want them removed. They were there as a reminder, refreshing his memory every time he started to feel at ease in Asgard.

Thor didn't say anything to him as he started cleaning the wound. He left once, going into the washroom to get a bowl of water and linen, as well as a cloth to dress it. He was gentle and he was kind and for just a second, Loki allowed himself to relax. His eyes felt heavy and Thor's repetitive motions were enough to lull him into a doze. He awoke abruptly, though when he felt Thor moving away, unable to stop the panic from taking over him when he moved. "Where are you going?" He caught himself right after the words left his mouth, and he internally cursed himself for allowing such vulnerability to show. But his heart was racing and his breath was coming out in quick pants and it took everything to stop from reaching out to his brother.

But Thor smiled, sparkling blue eyes revealing nothing but love and adoration. Loki didn't understand it – not after everything that he had done – but he was grateful when Thor returned to his bedside and sat down upon it. "Fear not, my brother, for I will never leave you again."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note – Thank you for all of the reviews. Your kind words are very encouraging and I appreciate it greatly. As always, thanks to Takada Saiko - for inspiring me to write this – and Cassy27 - for helping me through the writing process every step. You girls are great!

* * *

Coming Home || Chapter Five

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He woke to the smell of bread and honey, to the smell of fruits and rich crème that he had always enjoyed dipping grapes into. He woke to the peaceful pressure of a warm body pressed against his own, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close, shielding him from a world he could not recognise. Emerald green eyes slowly blinked open. The first thing he noticed was a huge plate sitting at the foot of the bed, filled with breads and fruits and cheeses and pastries. Loki could not remember the last time he had eaten something and just the sight of those foods made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. The second thing that Loki noticed was Thor – Thor who was _still_ there, who hadn't left him, who had his arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close, holding him against his chest, his heart. Hesitantly, he let his head fall back to Thor's chest and he closed his eyes, listening for the sound of his heart-beat. He could feel it and it was there and he wasn't just imagining it. It wasn't a cruel twist of fate, wasn't a sick game that was being played on him. It was real and Thor was real and he was home, he was safe, there was no-one that could hurt him or –

His heart-beat wasn't in a calm rhythm anymore and Loki knew that Thor was awake. Using the seconds of privacy that he had left, Loki closed his eyes and willed his own heart to calm, to stop trying to beat right through his ribs, to relax. It wasn't easy – it never was with him – because all Loki could think about was a still body, cold, unmoving, sparkling blue eyes that were lifeless, staring up at him with dull expressions. They were empty, void of emotion, and that wasn't right, because Thor was never void of emotion. A smile always graced his face and, even if there wasn't, Thor wore his heart on his sleeve and there was always something to see, to hear and feel and – "Loki," That voice came too quick, was too loud, too … too _everything_, and Loki could take it, couldn't handle it, couldn't _breathe it was getting hard to breath and why couldn't he breathe he needed to breathe Thor_ – "Brother, all is well. Be still."

But was it all well? Shaking his head, Loki forced himself to breathe, to inhale and exhale, but the more he did that, the easier it was for him to hear the sound of his shaky breath, and the more he heard it, the more erratic it got, and before he knew it, he was panting, gasping, his lungs burning for oxygen, for air, for a breath that he could not catch. Tears swarmed his eyes and fell down his cheeks, the sobs ripping from him doing absolutely nothing to ease the pain in his chest, his lungs. He could hear Thor's voice in his ear, trying to calm Loki down, trying to bring him back to reality, but nothing help, and he could feel those arms wrapping around him and he let out a pathetic whimpering moan that sounded broken and pitiful in his own ear. Loki swatted at those arms that tried to encircle him. He couldn't let himself get trapped, couldn't let himself be anymore worthless. He was Loki of Asgard – _and I am burdened with glorious purpose_ – a Prince, Odin's Second Son – _Son of Laufey, King of Jotunheim, and Prince of the Frost Giants_ –

"Loki, it's alright. Just listen to my voice, brother, and come back to me."

The cry that ripped from Loki at those words broke him entirely. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Loki buried his head in his arms, shielding himself from the world.

_ He was screaming. His chest was heaving and he was straining against the ropes that were wrapped around his body, being held back by them. The gag in his mouth was muffling off his screams, but the look in his eyes was enough to show just how terrified he was, just how desperate he was. He was lying on the ground and no amount of struggling, no amount of jerking and pulling and yanking and screaming, pleading, begging would grant him another inch. _

_ They were hurting him. He was brought in chains and they were flogging him, beating him with rocks and fists and he wasn't making a single noise. He was taking it and the only sound that was heard was the sound of fists against skin, the tearing of flesh, and the sound of his muffled screams as he fought against his restraints to get to him. They would hurt him for this sudden fight. He had tried for so long to remain still, to show them that he had none left, but with just the sight of him on the ground, taking a beating for _him_; it was enough to spur on the fight. He would do anything to make it stop. _

_ The beating didn't stop and he didn't stop fighting against the ropes that held him in place that confined him and bound him so tightly. He watched helplessly as his strength lessened. Several minutes passed, hours passed before he hit the ground and even then, they did not stop. The tears were streaming down his face and he couldn't stop screaming, couldn't stop the tears from falling from his eyes, the sobs that wracked his body, because this wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to feel this, wasn't supposed to love him, and wasn't supposed to allow this to happen. He had nothing to do with this why were they doing this it wasn't supposed to happen it wasn't it wasn't it wasn't – _

_ His name was called – he was calling his name – and his gaze cleared just enough to take in the battered face of someone he thought he hated, but loved more than anything in the entire world. "It's alright, brother …"_

_ Like an animal, they led him over to his fallen body by the ropes. They wouldn't release him, wouldn't let him hold him or rock him or anything. So he did the only thing that he could think of – he rested his head against his chest, closed his eyes, calmed his tears for the moment, and tried to listen for the sound of his heart-beat. _There_. It was there and he allowed himself a sob as he listened to the glorious sound. He had no idea how long he sat there, his head on his chest, his entire body and mind in a state of peace for the first time in such a long time._

_ But he was unfortunate and his luck was bad, bad, bad, and as he listened to that glorious heart-beat, he began to notice how it got slower and slower, fainter and fainter. He picked his head up and stared down at him, at his broke body, his barely recognisable face. He called for him – muffled as it may be- before pressing his ear back against his chest. He was dying. They had beat him to the brink of death and they weren't going to heal him, were going to let him die. His eyes squeezed shut and he forced his tears at bay, because he had to hear his heart-beat, couldn't let it slip without his noticing. _

_ And when it did, he died with him. He wailed and cried and screamed and tried to bring himself closer to his fallen body, but he was yanked away, forced away, and nothing he did could bring him closer. He cursed the ropes binding him, cursed the gag that held back all that wanted to scream, cursed himself, cursed everything and everyone, because what was the point of living anymore? He was pulled away. He fought and screamed, yanking and jerking and screaming and shouting, but they didn't even acknowledge him as they dragged him off, leaving his entire world in a broken, dead heap on that barren ground._

He was pulled into a solid frame and his first instinct was to scream and pull himself away and, right before Loki could get the chance, he forced himself to open his eyes. Before him was – _his light, his beacon, his brother always his brother never doubt that I love you _– Thor, his sparkling blue eyes filled with tears of his own. He ran a hand down the side of Loki's face, urging him to look upon him and see that he was real, that was safe, that nothing would ever harm him again. He was speaking, but Loki couldn't hear what he was saying, too absorbed in _Thor_, his light and his love and how could Loki think that Thor could never love him when he was suffocating on it. Loki shook his head and pressed himself against Thor, his arms wrapping around his neck, burying his face in the crook of his neck, because he was right there, he was okay and he was alive. He could feel the thundering of his heart and the sobs that ripped through Loki were enough to have him shaking and trembling. Thor's arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and Loki relaxed in his grasp, allowing his words to wash over him, warming him.

"Will you not tell me what ails you, brother?" Thor asked after several minutes. His voice was thick with emotion and his hand hadn't stopped rubbing soothing circles into his back. The other was holding the back of Loki's neck, keeping him as close as possible. Just the sound of his voice made Loki's eyes screw up tighter, knowing that what Thor wanted to hear would tear him apart, would break him entirely. And Loki couldn't do that, because Thor – his _brother_ – and his mother were the only reasons why he wasn't losing himself completely to the darkness and the fear and the inevitable drop that was clinging to his ankles, weighing him down, pulling him, waiting for him to let go and fall, _fall, fall. _"I will help you. I will do anything to have you well again, Loki."

"I know," Loki's forced response, his own voice sounding weak and strangled. He choked out the words and then tightened his grip on Thor, hating how weak and pathetic he sounded, but for once not caring, because Thor would take care of him. He could be strong with Thor. He could use Thor's hope and his light and his unending faith to bring himself back from the brink and be _Loki_ again, whoever that may be now. "But this … I cannot. I can barely survive it, but I know you will not. Please do not ask me again. You cannot know."

He didn't like it – Loki could tell that much with how his arms tightened around him, with how silent he became. And even though Loki would do anything to change that, he knew that he couldn't cave. If there was one thing that Loki could do now, it was protect Thor from _this_. It was better that way. If Thor knew what he dreamt, what he saw … it would not only break him, but it would ignite a fire under him, would have him going to that barren rock to seek revenge and vengeance for his broken brother. Loki couldn't let Thor do that. "I may not be able to share your burdens, brother, but do not shut me out. Give me what you can and let me ease your suffering."

And Loki nodded his head and let out a shaky sigh, forcing the breath in and out of his lungs, because he needed to pull it together, needed to calm down. He could feel Thor's chest rising and falling against his own, could feel his heart-beat thundering against his ribs. He could _feel_ Thor, knew that he was there, that he wasn't just a horrible image that his damaged mind concocted to torment him more. He had no idea how long he stayed in Thor's arms. He had no idea how long he stayed there, just listening to the sound of his heart, feeling it beat against his chest. It was comforting and it was terrifying all at the same time, because he needed to make sure it didn't fade, needed to make sure that he was alive. He knew, but he needed to be _sure_. Thor didn't seem to mind. He shifted only once – and that was to pull them against the headboard – before falling still, his hand rubbing continuous soothing circles into his back.

There was a knock on the door a while later, one that caused Loki to tense up so quickly that it startled even Thor. The door opened and Loki released a small, fearful whine – one that caused his cheeks to redden and the tears to fall more freely, because how pathetic was he that he couldn't even handle the door opening. Thor merely shushed him and tightened his grip around him, rocking him gently, calming him down. Whispered words were exchanged between his brother and the new arrival, but Loki didn't care, couldn't care, because all he needed in that moment was his brother. Soon there was silence. Loki could feel his body slowly start to calm, the tension in his limbs lessening until he was composed again. His eyelids grew heavy and he wasn't strong enough to ward off sleep, but that didn't matter, because Thor was there, and Thor was safe, and Thor would protect him against the evils that threatened to bring him down.

Loki fell asleep in Thor's arms and, for the first time in such a long, long time, he slept peacefully.

* * *

**To Be Continued ...**


End file.
